


The Titular Hero

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Loyalty, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), idk what other tags so uh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-11-28 20:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: What if Aziraphale was of high rank, once upon a time?





	1. Book of Aziraphale, 1:1

**Author's Note:**

> This came from the thought, "What if the angel names are actually titles?"
> 
> I will definitely continue this. Somehow.

“Raphael sends his regards,” Gabriel said, bowing his head briefly.

Aziraphale, new to this position and feeling distinctly unprepared, smiled nervously. “Oh—that’s kind of him,” he replied inanely. As Aziraphale, he was technically higher in station than Gabriel and Raphael, and that made him frightened. How does one address one’s superiors when they are now one’s subordinates? “Does She have orders?” That was the only reason he could think of for Gabriel’s presence.

“We thought we would have the meeting in here,” Michael explained, settling gracefully in one of the seats across from Aziraphale’s desk. “We know you’re busy, so we’ll make it brief.”

Aziraphale nodded. He was still a little star-struck, that he was now on speaking terms with Michael, General of the Heavenly Host. She was always cool and calm, always in control. Aziraphale admired her greatly.

But now she had reminded him; it was time for the weekly meeting. There were still issues among the Hosts, the War being so recent. All the Named angels were still struggling with those emboldened or shaken by the Fall, keep them in line, keep them reassured, keep them from starting another War. And so these meetings, where the Named angels met and discussed their various malcontents and what to do about them.

Aziraphale was in charge of Heaven’s defenses, a vital job now that there were Fallen angels (demons, She had named them) trying to get back in. Aziraphale thought there was too hard a line in there somewhere, but he never had time to think about it. Reports, reports, reports—he passed on those relevant to Gabriel and Michael, received theirs, and asked when Raphael would be available.

Gabriel and Michael looked at him blankly. “Just order him to come,” Michael said.

“Oh,” Aziraphale replied, embarrassed. “Well...”

The door to Aziraphale’s office opened and Raphael strode in. His hard blue eyes and tightly-pressed lips showed his irritation more than his voice, which was deadly calm as he asked, “Aziraphale, sir, why am I getting reports that you’re injured, and yet you have not come to the Healers?”

“I’ve been busy,” Aziraphale answered, flushing in distress—and pain, as the wound on his thigh twinged. Almost time to change the bandage. “And it’s not a bad wound.”

“You’re worse than the last Aziraphale,” Raphael muttered, dropping into the third chair. Michael frowned at him and he sighed. “Sorry, sir.”

Aziraphale rubbed his thigh discreetly as it began to ache. “It’s fine. Ah, here’s your reports.” He passed over the scrolls of information. “A Creator will be assigned to each of your units. I did my best to match temperaments; let me know if any problems develop.”

“Why do I need Creators?” Raphael asked, surprised.

“She gave Creators the ability to pull strength from the Eternity. I thought it might be useful to the Healers to have more power, so they don’t burn out so quickly. You’ll have to monitor still for that, but Uriel was very sure that the Creators we chose will be sensible. They’ll have to return to the studios after a while, but the more serious injuries will hopefully be to a point where the Healers won’t need to constantly be on standby.”

Aziraphale stopped there, surprised by the awe on the three faces before him. Really, it was just sensible, to have departments work together. Why were they looking at him like this was a revolutionary idea?

“I take it back, sir,” Raphael said finally. “You’re better than the old one.”

Aziraphale blushed again, but before he could reply, his First Clerk poked her head in and announced nervously, “Excuse me, exalted ones, but soldier 2B5 is demanding to speak with Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale grimaced. Soldier 2B5 had been annoyed at Aziraphale’s promotion and took every opportunity to challenge him. Understandable, really. 2B5 had been his superior, a truly frightening warrior who followed Her with perfect obedience. To be passed over like this…

“Tell them he’s busy,” Michael ordered, scowling.

The Clerk looked to Aziraphale. He nodded, and she left, closing the door again.

“Why don’t you demote them to 3C?” Gabriel inquired curiously.

“Because they truly are a good leader,” Aziraphale replied wearily. “They’re just disappointed. I won’t demote someone just because they don’t like me.”

Gabriel sighed and shook his head. “You’re too kind, Aziraphale.”

“I just would rather avoid any… altercations.”

The conversation moved on from there.

Uriel was busy filling out Judgment forms, listing the names of the Fallen (as Judge, she had been allowed access to the Knowledge), but she would drop in when she was done. Sandalphon, Michael’s Deputy, was drilling the soldiers unhurt or healed enough to continue training. He answered to Michael and Gabriel both, so technically he was under Aziraphale; but Aziraphale’s essence always twisted uneasily in Sandalphon’s presence, so he was glad to leave him to Michael and Gabriel. The other Named angels were busy keeping peace and making things run smoothly.

Raphael’s garrison, the Healers, were not doing very well. She had only made about a hundred, and twenty had Fallen; and for about 600 angels, most badly injured, eighty Healers just wasn’t enough. Raphael had been doing more than he should, and Aziraphale scolded him gently for it, but honestly, any angel chosen for the Name of Raphael _would_ do more than they should.

The former Raphael had been like that, too.

Aziraphale firmly shoved that thought aside.

They were just wrapping up when Uriel opened the door, stepped in—and was shoved out of the way by soldier 2B5.

The three Named angels ranged in front Aziraphale’s desk rose immediately, weapons materializing in their hands; Michael’s flaming longsword, Raphael’s poisonous spear, Gabriel’s mace of ice and diamond. Uriel, her dark face outraged and suspicious, quietly closed the door and set herself in front of it, her fists and arms covered in gauntlets strong enough to deflect any weapon.

Aziraphale stood, feeling sick with the aggressive energies pouring off the five other angels. “How can I help you, 2B5?” he asked politely.

2B5, who had come in with a look of anger and triumph, eyed the weapons ranged against them with a much cooler temper. They smiled, charming—and mocking.

“Can I speak to you alone, Aziraphale?” they asked.

“You fear to speak before us?” Michael retorted snidely. For a moment, spectral armor shimmered over her form.

“No, I simply don’t wish to burden you with my humble questions,” 2B5 replied sweetly.

Aziraphale clenched his fingers on the edge of his desk. His leg with throbbing with pain, now. “Speak now, please, 2B5,” he said, even as could be. “Won’t you be missed soon?”

The look 2B5 turned on Aziraphale made him very glad the other Named angels were here with him. If 2B5 wished, they could simply cut Aziraphale down now and be done with it. Of course, that would get them cast down, but they might think it worth it. Aziraphale kept his face as bland as possible.

“I was wondering when you would be rejoining the garrison,” 2B5 stated firmly.

No one bought it.

“When I’m done with paperwork,” Aziraphale answered them. “So perhaps another week.”

“When will you promote me?” 2B5 finally demanded. “The former Aziraphale promised.”

“Soon,” Aziraphale replied, feeling a cold ripple of fear. “I have some loose ends to tie up, but then I’ll get around to looking over promotions. There are still many injured soldiers.”

“That’s enough questions,” Uriel snapped, making 2B5 whip around to look at her. “We have business here, soldier.” She stepped aside and opened the door. 2B5 stood still for a moment… then stalked out of the office. Uriel slammed the door shut and locked it behind them.

Aziraphale lowered himself back into his chair. He felt so very tired all of a sudden. “Thank you,” he said to the others, a little awkwardly. Their weapons vanished, and they all sat down, Uriel miracleing a chair between Raphael and Gabriel. All four looked at Aziraphale measuringly, and he fought the urge to squirm. He wasn’t used to having people look at him so searchingly. He was more used to keeping his head down, doing what he was told, and keeping his thoughts behind his teeth besides the occasional acknowledgment of orders.

“You’re too nice,” Gabriel repeated. “The former Aziraphale would have demoted them immediately.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’d make them into an enemy.”

“That didn’t look much like friendship to me,” Raphael pointed out. The others nodded. Raphael continued, “You’ve got to stand up for yourself more. You can’t just expect everything to smooth out just because you were nice.”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale replied. Had he ever been this tired? “I’m just… not up to fighting them. And I need a reason besides them hating me.”

“Why?” Michael asked. “You’re their superior. You can do whatever you want to them.”

Aziraphale did not have the chance to reply, because the phone on his desk began to wink its blue light at him. A call. Directly from Her.

The others tensed. Aziraphale took a breath and answered. “Yes?”

**Aziraphale. Bring your siblings to Metatron.** And then the line went dead.

Puzzled, worried, dreading whatever came next, Aziraphale put the handset down. “She wants us to meet with Metatron,” he told them, his heart pounding in his throat.

The others all stood immediately. They were all afraid, but hiding it well. “This won’t be good,” Michael murmured.

Aziraphale pushed back his chair, stood, and managed to walk around his desk without limping… but then Raphael noticed the vague lump under his robe on his thigh, and made a noise of great annoyance.

“Alright, as soon as we’re done, I’m fixing that,” he declared, pointing to the wound. Aziraphale blushed.

The five Named angels left Aziraphale’s office, made their way down the hall, and stopped before the elevator. Aziraphale felt very unnerved, how the others made a little ring around him. It felt too much like being in the ranks.

Metatron’s office was on the very top floor. It didn’t take long to get there. The five of them trooped out of the elevator and entered the audience chamber.

Metatron sat in the middle of the chamber, on a purple cushion. Incense burned around him, as he wrote on a never-ending scroll with a bottomless inkwell and iron quill. He didn’t even look up when the others stopped before him.

“Gabriel is a traitor,” Metatron said finally. “He is to Fall. Michael and Uriel, please escort him to the Chasm.”

Aziraphale looked around, horrified, but Michael and Uriel, both looking suspicious, grabbed Gabriel’s arms. Gabriel’s face was a study in fear and heartbreak, as he went quietly with his sisters to a doorway to one side of the chamber.

Raphael put his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. He was trembling. Aziraphale put his own arm around Raphael’s waist. They waited, breathless and frightened, until Metatron deigned to speak again.

“Aziraphale, promote 2B5 to the position of Gabriel,” the Scribe intoned, his writing slowing a little. “Raphael, you will witness.”

A faint scream made Aziraphale jump. It sounded just like the heartbroken screams of the other Fallen angels. Metatron nodded, and sped up again. “Go,” he said.

Silently, Aziraphale and Raphael, both cold with shock, turned and went back to the elevator.

When they were back in Aziraphale’s office, he sat hard, dizzy and sick. Not as terrible as after the War, but certainly bad enough. Raphael put his head in his hands, as Aziraphale dialed the Clerk, and asked her quietly, “Can you send soldier 2B5 to me, please?”


	2. Book of Aziraphale, 2:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's only been four days but idc have more Babby
> 
> It's not very long tho so I'll probably do a faster posting schedule.

The ceremony was brief: a gathering of Named angels, anointment by Michael, the passing of the Name and power to 2B5. He chose to be referred to with he/him, as the Gabriel before him had, and promised to uphold God’s Will with a feverish gleam in his eyes and a smirk at the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale, standing beside Michael, was very unnerved. But he did not show that.

Gabriel took charge of his garrison quickly, firmly, and with a certain glee that even Sandalphon remarked upon. Aziraphale remained silent. When complaints started trickling in, Aziraphale took a deep breath and asked Gabriel to come to his office.

He expected Gabriel to dawdle, or “forget” that Aziraphale called for him; but he was wrong. Gabriel arrived promptly, smug in his new power, and sat before Aziraphale could greet him. Aziraphale let it pass.

“Gabriel, I have been receiving some worrying messages,” Aziraphale began, glad to have filed away the complaints before the other had arrived. He did not want to think about what would happen to the poor angels who had gotten up the courage to speak if Gabriel knew who they were. “I know we are all still recovering from wartime footing, but it is unnecessary to physically punish your subordinates.”

“I’m Gabriel,” Gabriel replied with a smirk. “I can do what I want.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That is not the duty of the Named. We all have responsibilities, you included. Those responsibilities require us to care for those under us, so that we can all work more efficiently to carry out God’s Will. You can’t just shove your paperwork off onto your Clerks and—”

Gabriel suddenly stood. “Sorry, Aziraphale, have to dash,” he sniped, and turned away.

“**Gabriel 2B5, you sit back down right this minute.**”

Gabriel whirled, and gaped. Aziraphale did not even care that he had sworn not to use his Authority; Gabriel wasn’t _listening_. So Aziraphale glared, until Gabriel sat, still staring as if frightened, which under other circumstances would have been interesting.

“That is exactly what I meant,” Aziraphale snapped. “You are not allowed to just decide when you honor your duty and when you don’t. You swore to uphold the Laws, and that includes _caring_. You can’t swan around acting like everyone else will do your job for you, and you _certainly_ can’t punish people for not doing what you want them to when you didn’t _say_ anything about it.”

“But I do tell them,” Gabriel replied sullenly, though the skin around his purple eyes was still tight with fear. “Every morning, I send out memos to everyone in my department.”

“That’s a lie,” Aziraphale retorted sharply. “You forget, your Clerks answer to mine; none of them have _ever_ gotten a memo from you. For goodness sake, Gabriel, act like your Name for once. I’m willing to take this up with Her, you know.”

Gabriel stared with true fear. Aziraphale kept his face hard, though inside he was cringing. He meant it, of course; he never said anything he didn’t mean. But it wasn’t right to threaten a subordinate like this.

Finally, Gabriel nodded. “I understand… sir. I’ll do my duty.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Gabriel stood and walked out silently, and with no arrogance in his step.

~

It had been a long time since the angels were all called to the Center.

Aziraphale’s idea had been a good one. The Creators and Healers had worked together quite well, and now all the angels could at least hobble to the Center, though some still had to sit in chairs. Aziraphale had refused to let Raphael overextend himself on Aziraphale’s behalf, so his leg still hurt; but he didn’t show it. He was pleased to see how many angels were now allowed to move from their beds at Healers.

Gabriel deliberately shoved Aziraphale out of way so he had to lean on his injured leg to let him through. Aziraphale said nothing. He had let slip to the others that Gabriel had been failing his station, and Michael had immediately gone to Metatron. The Scribe had simply told her that God was busy, and she should come back some other time. So now Gabriel thought he was untouchable—though he had not disobeyed Aziraphale yet.

The other Named angels, with the exception of Sandalphon, glared sullenly as Gabriel stood slightly in front of the crowd, wide shoulders set and his head held arrogantly high. Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of himself and tried not to think mean thoughts.

Metatron sat on his cushion, but the scroll was not present. He gazed at the gathered angels as if they were less than him rather than his siblings, before beginning to announce, in firm and slightly scornful tones, “She has a new creation. She would like to speak to you about it.” He squared his shoulder, lifted his chin, and Spoke.

**They will be called Humans, and they will be made in my image. I have created a world for them, and a garden, and a wall to protect them. I will require Guardians for them. And I ask that you love them as I do, with the same love you accord me.**

The angels shuffled and fidgeted, though none spoke. This was almost identical to Her proclamation earlier, before the War. The proclamation that started the War. Aziraphale felt tension in his gut.

**Aziraphale, stay after, and I will speak with you about who the Guardians should be. As for the rest of you, I ask that you heal, and grow strong again. The demons are scheming, and I do not believe they will leave Heaven be for long. That is all.**

Metatron’s head drooped, and everyone knew that She was gone. Slowly, the angels left the Center, all with some degree of worry or annoyance. Aziraphale did not need to read their minds (though he could, the power came with the office) to know that they were worrying over how to love someone as much as they loved Her.

And then it struck him.

None of them even knew what love was.

It couldn’t be fear, and it surely wasn’t the fierce, blind obedience the majority accorded to Her. What was it, then? Ever since the first announcement of humans, that had been a question thrown about in… certain circles… that Aziraphale had avoided studiously, because he was frightened.

What is love? What does it feel like? Do any of them feel it?

The memory of Lucifer’s perfect voice asking these questions made Aziraphale want to shudder. But he didn’t.

Gabriel smacked into him again as he left, and this time Aziraphale stumbled, caught off-balance. Raphael caught him, and the glare he sent after Gabriel was almost murderous.

But finally, everyone was gone, and Aziraphale was alone with Metatron, who looked at him with distaste. But then he straightened, and Spoke again.

**Aziraphale, I will need three of your best guardians for the Western, Northern, and Southern gates. You will take the Eastern.**

Aziraphale gaped up at Metatron, stunned. Demotion. So soon? Had She seen his doubting thoughts?

**This is not a demotion. It is merely a reassignment. Instead of protecting Heaven, you will protect the Garden, Eden. The Humans are a precious creation; you must keep them safe.**

Aziraphale nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes, Great One,” he whispered. More precious than Heaven? It didn’t feel right. But if She said they were, then they must be. Mustn’t they?

**You may go, Aziraphale.** Her voice was gentler, as if She knew he was conflicted but trying his best. He bowed to Metatron, to Her, and left the Center.

~

The Garden was quite lovely, and Aziraphale found himself being curious about everything in it. But he kept his mouth shut, stationed his people (really, Eden was much too big for just four angels, and shouldn’t they have patrols on the ground, too?) and waited for the Humans.

He didn’t see them arrive, but one day he heard crackling in the brush beneath his station. After another quick scan of the horizon, he turned, and looked down.

A Human was staring up at him, puzzled. Oh, yes; this must be the one name Eve. She was slimmer, and her hair was longer, and her face was sweeter. Aziraphale smiled and waved a little. She beamed, and waved back.

And Aziraphale felt something warm and protective in his chest. She was innocent. She had no notion of power struggles, of dislikes, of boredom and fear. And Aziraphale didn’t want her to ever know those things.

Adam strode up beside Eve, pointed at Aziraphale, and said quite clearly, “Guardian.”

Aziraphale smiled wider, and nodded. He wasn’t sure what this feeling was, this need to make sure nothing bad ever befell them, this desire to make sure they were happy, but he welcomed it. Because now, instead of being bored and worried, he felt like he had a purpose. Protect and love the Humans.

Maybe that had been Her plan all along.

Eden was so big, the guardians could rarely see each other. So Aziraphale only felt a little nervous, when he let Adam and Eve on the wall with him, to gaze out at the empty desert. Eve seemed curious, and leaned on the crenelation to look better; Adam frowned and pursed his lips, disapproving. When they left the wall, Eve hugged Aziraphale tightly, and then they disappeared down into the garden again.

Aziraphale thought about that for a long time.

Finally, one day, he descended to the garden floor, and walked slowly through Eden, wondering if he would even see a demon in the lush foliage and dense undergrowth. He saw the Humans before they saw him; they were building a little lean-to out of fallen branches, weaving long grasses between the branches to make walls. Not a sturdy protection from much except wind; but, then again, there was nothing to guard against here. When they were done, they sat under it, and beamed up at their creation, proud of themselves. Then Eve saw Aziraphale, and beckoned eagerly. He smiled and walked over.

“We made shelter!” Eve exclaimed as he approached, “For when the sun is too hot and the trees aren’t enough. Do you like it?”

“It’s quite smart, yes,” Aziraphale answered, admiring the notches in the branches holding it all up. “How did you cut these?”

Adam held up a large, flat rock, sharpened on one side. “We have to be careful how we hold it, but it’s strong enough to cut wood,” he answered. He added proudly, “Eve thought of it.”

“That’s very clever!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and he meant it. Then he had a thought. “Do you get cold at night?”

“Sometimes,” Eve replied, tilting her head and looking at him inquisitively. “We made a fire with some rocks once, but it takes such a long time.”

“I can show you how to make a fire-starter out of wood and rope.”

The Humans gazed at him with wide, delighted eyes. “Please!” Eve enthused.

So Aziraphale showed them how to make a fire-starter, that Adam almost immediately named “bow and drill”. Eve got the hang of how to use it fastest, but she was easily discouraged; Adam kept at it with a frown of absolute concentration until finally there was smoke. Aziraphale handed over the small strip of the hem of his robe that he had cut off with his sword, and soon there was a merry little flame dancing before them. Eve clapped, Aziraphale smiled, and Adam looked smug.

Next, Aziraphale showed them how to use resin as fuel for a fire, and how to dig a firepit and line it with stones. The Humans thanked him cheerfully, and he replied that it had been a pleasure. But the sun was getting low, and he had been away from his position for a long time. The Humans offered to walk with him. He accepted with a smile.

All the way to the wall, the Humans questioned him. Who was he? An angel. Why was he always on the wall? To guard them from outside. What was outside? Evil creatures and dangerous beasts. Who put him there? God, the same one who created them. Why did God create them?

Aziraphale paused, and thought about it. “Well… She never told me, specifically, but I’m sure others were informed. You have a great part to play in the advancement of the world.” He smiled, he hoped reassuringly. It must have worked, because the Humans beamed back, excited in their importance.

Another surge of fierce warmth in his chest. He was going to protect these dear beings. He was going to make sure responsibility never smothered their curiosity. And he was going to come to them more often, to answer their questions, to learn of how they lived, to make sure they were happy. God was right, as always; the Humans were important and wonderful, and Aziraphale loved them unconditionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


	3. Book of Aziraphale, 2:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll be finishing chapter four soon but idk but anyway here's the third lol

It was at night that the dove came.

It glowed with holy power, and when it alighted on the crenelation in front of Aziraphale, it did not pause before speaking in Michael’s voice.

“Aziraphale, we need to talk. Return to Heaven as soon as possible.”

Before he could reply, the dove flew off again. Frowning, he glanced behind him, at the sleeping garden. The Humans would be safe for the night, he was sure. So he took a deep breath, stretched his wings to limber them up, stepped up on the crenelation, and jumped off, scooping air with his wings to gain height. Soon he passed through the air of the mortal realm, and entered Heaven.

He set down on a ledge easily—he loved nothing so much as flying—and strode inside the building. At once, he noticed differences; there seemed a thick overlay of fear in the air, and those angels he saw walked far more quickly than he’d have expected from subordinates. None of them even seemed to notice him, as he folded his wings into his Heavenly form and walked through the echoing halls to the elevator.

Oddly, he didn’t see any angels on the floor where his office was. He frowned again. Surely there should at least be a couple angels quietly writing reports. But no, there was nothing…

His office was locked, and would not answer to his key. He twitched his fingers at the lock and it opened obligingly.

“How many times do I—” began an angry voice, and Aziraphale looked up, startled.

It wasn’t his office anymore. It was a meeting room. At the head of the table sat Gabriel. Michael and Uriel sat to either side of him; Sandalphon lurked in the corner. Raphael sat beside Uriel, and of the five, he seemed the most tired. His eyes barely flickered in recognition as he looked at Aziraphale blankly.

Gabriel’s anger smoothed away into a mocking smile. “Aziraphale. We didn’t expect you so soon,” he said.

“Michael said to come as soon as possible,” Aziraphale replied warily, stepping further into the room. “Since the Humans were in good hands, I thought it best to come immediately.”

“Even still, it should have taken you longer to find the elevator.”

“Why? It’s always in the same place, has been since Creation.” Aziraphale closed the door behind him, and stood at the foot of the table. Michael seemed uncertain, glancing from Gabriel to Aziraphale and back; Uriel was carefully calm, though her hands were clasped quite tightly on the table. Raphael simply stared at Aziraphale. Gabriel’s smile had dropped, and he was glaring at Aziraphale.

“We changed the floorplans,” he said tightly.

“Oh. I didn’t notice. Where is everyone?”

Uriel looked down. Michael pressed her lips together. Raphael stared.

Gabriel smirked. “Your division was dissolved, Aziraphale. We have no need for guards.”

Aziraphale blinked, taken aback. “I… was not informed,” he replied.

“Of course not. You were already demoted.”

“It wasn’t a demotion.”

Gabriel snorted. “Please. Stuck on Earth, guarding Humans? That’s a demotion, Aziraphale.”

Raphael turned his head to look at Gabriel. “You sound like Lucifer when you use that tone,” Raphael noted, with no tone of his own. “Shouldn’t you be more careful?”

“Metatron put me in charge,” Gabriel shot back. “I can say the truth.”

Aziraphale had begun to feel cold all through this exchange, and a little dizzy. “In charge of what? You already have a division.”

“I’m in charge of everything now,” Gabriel announced smugly. There was a frightening gleam in his eye. “Even Metatron has to do what I say. I answer directly to God, now. And _you_, Aziraphale, are demoted.”

“Demoted to what?” Aziraphale demanded, fighting fear to speak coherently. “I already have a station given by God. You can’t make me do anything that goes against Her orders.”

For some reason, this took them all by surprise. Even Raphael looked startled. Suddenly Aziraphale realized what he was seeing. Burnout. Raphael was on the edge of burnout. What kind of terrible things had been happening in Heaven, that the leader of the Healers was so close to falling apart?

The silence went on too long. Aziraphale decided to break it. “I’ve been stationed to guard the Humans. Therefore, the Defense Division has not been dissolved, merely reassigned. Maybe you control everyone else, Gabriel, but you don’t trump God Herself. Now are you going to continue trying to gloat or can I leave?” He put as much acid into that last sentence as he could.

Michael and Uriel looked cautiously delighted. Raphael actually did smile. Sandalphon frowned.

And Gabriel’s face twisted into pure hatred, before he smoothed it away with a smile and said, “You are dismissed.”

Aziraphale turned and left before he even finished that last word.

~

Another day in the garden. And Aziraphale was just supposed to stand guard and not think about last night’s revelations.

He couldn’t do it. He slumped down in the shade of the crenelations and stared at his toes, feeling numb. So. Gabriel’s grudge hadn’t cooled. And now Aziraphale was just another angel. Just another pawn. He was back in the muckheap before he’d even begun to get used to his new Name.

Wait.

They hadn’t UnNamed him.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. That’s right. They couldn’t reassign him, because God had done that already; and he had left before they could UnName him. He could keep his name. He could keep a semblance of self. As long as he was Aziraphale, he was not a nameless angel who blended in with the other soldiers. He had a purpose; protect the Humans. He could remain an individual.

And as an individual, he no longer had the responsibilities of a Named. He could devote all his time to the Humans. He leapt to his feet, stunned with this realization—

And heard crying at the base of the wall.

He did not think about it. He simply rushed to the stair and hurried down, to find Eve curled up in much the same position as Aziraphale had been, crying. A hot lump of anger formed in Aziraphale’s chest, that someone would hurt her—but he did not show his anger, as he approached and knelt near her. “Eve? What’s wrong, dear?”

She looked up at him, her lip trembling and her eyes red and watery. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she sniffled.

“Alright.” Aziraphale rearranged himself, so that he sat beside her, but not too close. He didn’t want to crowd her. It was the first time he’d ever seen her cry, and the anger in his chest swelled and grew hotter. Someone had dared to hurt the Human in his charge. He would wait until she told him who, and then he would punish them.

“Guardian, where were you last night?” she asked softly, breaking into his thoughts.

“I was called away for a meeting,” Aziraphale answered. “Did something happen?”

“Another angel came.” Eve curled up tighter, rocking gently. “They said I wasn’t allowed to name things. Adam asked why not and the angel said it’s because I am the lesser creature.”

Aziraphale immediately reached out and touched her shoulder, his chest aching with sympathy and rage. “You are not lesser,” he said firmly. “You are equal. God created you from the same stardust, to be each other’s companions and equals in all things.”

“The other angel said I was created from Adam’s flesh...”

Aziraphale snorted contemptuously. “Revisionist history. I was there at your making. You are not less than Adam.”

Eve looked at him searchingly. He looked back with as open and honest a face as he could manage. And then she scooted closer and leaned against him and he wrapped his arms around her, as she began to cry again.

She had stopped crying when Adam came to them, carrying a woven basket full of fruits. He sat on Eve’s other side, and Aziraphale let her go so she could turn to him.

“What should we name this one?” Adam asked, holding out an oval orange fruit to Eve.

She took it in her hands, and inspected it. Then she looked at him and said, with the smallest of smiles, “Kumquat.”

Aziraphale watched and listened with a growing smile as Adam and Eve named each of the fruit Adam had not yet named. The Humans ate each fruit, and offered Aziraphale pieces; he accepted with grave thanks, and enjoyed each taste, labeling it in his mind so he would never forget.

The Humans were debating whether or not kumquats should be considered citrus or not (they had apparently decided to group certain foods together, through some technique that Aziraphale couldn’t follow) when the angel of the Western gate came walking down the path towards them.

Aziraphale stood, brushing the dirt from his robe. “Yes?” he asked politely.

“We’ve been called back,” the angel said, their face worried and their body tense. “All three of us. Michael sent doves.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank, and he sighed. “You had better go, then.”

“Will you still be here when we get back?”

Aziraphale did not think they would ever come back. Not if Gabriel had his way. But he nodded, and smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it will be fine.”

The angel smiled back, quick but relieved, and turned to walk away quickly, perhaps to meet with the other guardians before they left.

“You’re sad,” Adam noted when the angel had left.

Aziraphale looked at the Humans, surprised. Well… maybe he shouldn’t be. After all, they had just learned for themselves what sadness and humiliation felt like. At least they were innocent enough to bounce back. He managed another smile. “Yes,” he said simply, because he could not think of a reason to lie.

“Are you going to be called away again?” asked Adam.

“Hopefully not.” Aziraphale looked away sharply, watching the three white shapes that were the other angels fly upwards. He felt very alone in that moment. Very… forgotten.

No, God never forgets Her children.

Does She?

Aziraphale swallowed hard and kept his shiver to himself. He didn’t want to be forgotten. He didn’t want to be alone.

And then he nearly laughed, but the laughter would’ve been sad and bitter, so he didn’t. Alone? No. The Humans were still here. He couldn’t be alone with Humans around. That didn’t make him feel better, though.

“Come have noon-meal with us,” Eve urged, as she stood, and came forward to take Aziraphale’s hand. “Maybe they’ll be back soon.”

Aziraphale blinked, surprised, as Adam stood too and nodded. Then, with a real smile, and a sense that maybe it would be okay, Aziraphale said, “Alright. Thank you.”

~

**WHY HAVE YOU EATEN THE FRUIT OF THE TREE?**

Aziraphale whirled from his watch on the wall, and felt his heart contract painfully with fear. He had never heard God so angry. Not even when She coldly ordered for the rebels to be either killed or cast down. And now a beam of Holy Light was striking the middle of the garden, and Aziraphale was afraid again—not for himself, no, though he was definitely also in trouble. He was afraid for Adam and Eve, who had become his friends as he guarded them.

He didn’t really think. He simply jumped from his spot on the wall down to the floor of the garden, wings spread for balance, and ran to intercept the Humans. He knew where the Gate was. He knew how long it would take for the Humans to find it. He didn’t know if he’d be in time.

He was, barely. Adam and Eve had tied leaves about their bodies, and shame was in their eyes. They saw him, and he felt like something in his chest had broken.

“Here,” he panted, and held his sword out to Adam, offering the hilt. “You can use it to defend yourselves.”

A new expression lit their faces. Hope. Aziraphale wanted to cry, but he held it back. They shouldn’t hope. Hope would get them hurt. They must be wary, always on their guard—

But as Adam took the blade, Aziraphale realized that he didn’t want that for them. He didn’t want them to lose hope. If they could still hope, then they were not entirely lost.

And so he hugged them both, and watched them walk through the Gate. They looked back once, and he couldn’t even bring himself to raise his hand in farewell. Because this wasn’t farewell. He refused to let it be farewell. Maybe things had gone wrong—but he could not give up on them. He loved them too much to give up.

When he couldn’t see them well anymore, he ascended to the top of the wall, and continued to watch them, his chest aching and his eyes stinging.

He’d failed. He’d failed them. But he was _not_ going to let go. He was Aziraphale, Director of Defense, Principality, and he was not going to let go.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale blinked, and managed to shove the ache aside enough to think, as he turned to look—just as a giant snake, reared up beside him, formed into a demon.

“...Sorry?” Aziraphale said blankly. He was a little surprised. The demon looked… familiar, but not in any way he could understand.

“I said that went down like a lead balloon,” the demon repeated, rolling its head to look at Aziraphale with lazy insolence. Its eyes were snake-like, which reminded Aziraphale of Raphael’s symbol, which was comforting. Very odd. “I mean, why place the tree _there_? Why not put it on the moon?”

Aziraphale turned away, uncomfortable. Adam had asked similar questions, and Aziraphale still had no answers. It took him a minute to find Adam and Eve again, walking through the desert. They clung to each other’s hands, and Aziraphale found himself wishing angrily that the demon would just go away and leave him alone.

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

Aziraphale glanced at the demon, surprised all over again. “Um...”

“You did,” the demon said, meeting his gaze with a small frown. “It was flaming away like anything, what happened to it?”

Aziraphale looked down at his empty hands. “...I gave it away,” he muttered.

“You _what_?”

“I gave it away!” he burst out, looking up sharply. He was not ashamed to admit this to a demon. If it was going to kill him it would’ve by now. And he felt like he needed to explain himself. To someone. Anyone. “It gets cold at night, there’s wild beasts that might kill them, and she’s expecting!” _That_ had been interesting, talking with Eve and figuring out she was with child. “And I was tasked with guarding them. If I can’t follow them, I can at least give them the means to protect themselves.” He looked away again, suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe it was the astonishment, and the tiny smile, on the demon’s face.

Adam was fighting a lion that had been hiding behind a dune. His form was off, but then, Aziraphale hadn’t taught him much, just the most rudimentary moves. Aziraphale watched tensely, as Eve hung back and Adam slashed clumsily at the beast. Finally, an opening; Adam stabbed the sword through the lion’s eye, and jumped back from its death-throes. The first killing at the hands of Humans. Aziraphale felt sick.

“I do hope I did the right thing,” he murmured to himself, clenching his hands tight against his stomach. He still felt guilty, despite telling himself that he was never going to give up on them.

“I’m sure you did, you’re an angel,” the demon replied airily. Then it laughed a little. “That’d be funny though, wouldn’t it? If I did the good thing and you did the bad thing?”

Aziraphale tensed and barely kept himself from spinning around and punching the demon as hard as he could. “No,” he said tightly. “It wouldn’t be.”

They were both silent for a time. A rumble in the air made Aziraphale look up. Dark shapes, clouds, were boiling across the sky. Oh dear. Now what?

“I’m Crawley,” the demon said suddenly, and its voice was gentler. “What’s your name?”

Aziraphale felt the first droplets of water falling on his face, and automatically, as he would’ve with the Humans, raised his wing to shield the demon from the first rain. “...I’m Aziraphale.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like loyalty can you tell
> 
> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


	4. Book of Aziraphale, 3:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: There is a scene of imprisonment in this chapter that may be troubling to some readers. There is an escape, though.
> 
> Also chapters will start getting a little longer from here out.

Aziraphale wondered why Crawley seemed reluctant to leave, though it seemed equally reluctant to speak. When the rain passed, leaving them and the garden steaming in the hot sun, Crawley turned to him and asked, “What now?”

Aziraphale shrugged, stretching his wing a little before folding it again. “I suppose things will change again,” he answered tiredly. “The garden will be destroyed, so the Humans can never find it again. That part was foretold. Then the angels will have to find ways to nudge the Humans along into being good.”

“Into following God’s plan,” Crawley corrected.

Aziraphale glanced at the demon and away. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“Is God’s way truly good though, if She’s the one who gave them the tree?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly. The demon’s tone was not needling as it had been earlier: just musing, and honestly asking his opinion. He had no answer he wasn’t afraid of. And he never said what he didn’t mean.

“I don’t have the knowledge to decide that,” he decided carefully, opening his eyes again. Crawley was looking at him soberly, as if this were a conversation between equals. But… demons used to be angels. Maybe they really were equal, at least in terms of power. “I would need more evidence to give a concrete opinion.”

“And in the meantime you’re going to follow God’s orders?”

“She told me to protect the Humans,” Aziraphale retorted, sure of himself now. “So that’s what I’m going to do.”

The demon smiled very slightly, a kind of tired smile. “Those are the only orders?”

“They override those given previously. Therefore they are the only ones.” He looked down as the wall seemed to tremble. “Oh dear. The Gate needs to be closed.”

“I’ll help,” Crawley offered immediately, and looked embarrassed when Aziraphale looked at it in surprise. “Look, I may not be able to heal or grow anything anymore, but I can still miracle. It’s just… different, from angel miracles.”

Did Crawley remember its fall, then? No, that was too sad a thought. Aziraphale pushed it away for now. “Alright. Start in the middle and work our ways out?”

“Reasonable enough. Then you can say you don’t know where I came from or went and it’ll be the truth.” Crawley flashed a truly impish grin, and Aziraphale felt a grudging liking for the demon. It seemed… an okay sort. Which was odd.

But they both leapt down, walked into the Gate, and began to fix it. Crawley chose to go into the garden; Aziraphale chose the desert. And so they went, miracling dust and shards into whole stones (Crawley had spoken true, though its miracles smelled like rotting wood and sulfur instead of sunlight and stone, which Aziraphale had never cared for anyway), and then placing those stones with a bit of miracled mortar. Before long they couldn’t see each other anymore, but the smell of wood and sulfur lingered, and when Aziraphale sniffed his wing, curious, the smell of something sharp yet pleasant lingered in his wet feathers. He frowned, but kept working.

As he placed the final stone, he felt the sun suddenly strengthen. Fear seared through him, and he turned to look into the Holy Light.

**Aziraphale, where is the sword I gave you?**

Aziraphale opened his mouth—and spoke the first lie into existence.

“I—I must’ve misplaced it,” he replied, laughing nervously. “Oh dear, forget my own head next—”

The light vanished, as did God’s presence. Aziraphale shivered and twisted his fingers, looking down at the sand sifting between his toes. Now what? His wings automatically mantled around him, a gesture he hadn’t used since he was young and the other angels picked on him for being timid. The scent of pleasant sharpness from the demon was truly embedded in his feathers, and he found himself turning into it, because it was a nice thing, when his world felt so bleak and harsh.

A dove fluttered down to rest on the joint of his right wing. In Michael’s voice, it said, “Aziraphale, come to the meeting room immediately.” Then it flew away.

Aziraphale hid his face in his hands for a moment. He was too tired to deal with the others. He was tense and stressed and all these intense emotions had tired him mentally. But he spread his wings, took three running steps, and launched himself into the air.

The airs of Heaven were colder than he remembered. The landing ledge was in poor repair. Aziraphale was too tired to think about it.

He stepped into an empty space with absolutely no angels. And now he felt it—the way the building shifted to accommodate his expectations. They had moved the corridors and the elevator, indeed; but Aziraphale’s will, even tired as he was, was stronger than Gabriel’s. This sparked anger in his chest, and he _felt_ the way Heaven snapped, to follow his rules. His hands tightened into fists, and he stalked through the halls, wings open in an aggressive manner. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to _fight_, but he certainly wanted to yell.

But that was not sensible. He jammed the right button in the elevator, and seethed with anger silently; the building was morphing around him, to take the elevator to the meeting room, as it should. His will was strong. That was why he’d been chosen.

He finally saw angels when he stepped out of the elevator. They looked at him, and then their eyes widened, and they scurried out of his way. He barely noticed them, or the crackles of Power zipping between his feathers and along his robe. He felt resistance to his will, but it was paltry. He reached the door to the meeting room and it opened without anyone touching it.

His eyes scanned the room as he stepped inside. Every Named angel was there, staring at him, most with fear. Raphael and Gabriel were the only ones who didn’t; because Raphael had propped his head in his hands and his long locs were in his face, and Gabriel was glaring. Was that a flash of fear, though, on Gabriel’s face?

Aziraphale smiled pleasantly. “Hello,” he said, and sat in the chair at the end across from Gabriel, instead of along the side, like a lesser angel. He clasped his hands on the table and asked in a reasonable tone, “So what now?”

“We have orders,” Uriel began, but Gabriel cut across her.

“Nah, you know what? Metatron surely misheard.” Gabriel stood; Aziraphale did not. “Aziraphale, you’re a danger to the Balance. You let the Humans be tempted, you remained in Eden instead of immediately reporting back, and you’re warping Heaven to suit your own needs.”

“Oh, like you did!” Aziraphale replied brightly, anger humming beneath his skin. “I can give you a long list of reasons why I failed to prevent the temptation, starting with all the ways _you_ set this up. As for staying in Eden, God never gave me orders for this occurrence. I thought it best to remain at my post lest She find fault with my abandoning it.”

“_I’m_ in charge!” Gabriel snapped, “You answer to _me_!”

Aziraphale’s smile grew, still polite, still cheerful; but the lightning-like plays of Power scurrying over his body grew brighter, and the others were truly frightened, now. “But I don’t.”

“That’s it.” Gabriel pointed at him. “You’re going to be UnNamed. You don’t understand your place.”

Aziraphale had the strangest feeling all of a sudden. It was a feeling of utter calm, as he replied, “But Gabriel, you said you would follow God’s Laws. Surely you haven’t already forgotten that you can’t UnName without Her permission.”

“God doesn’t _care_ what happens to you!” Gabriel shouted, and everyone jumped. Aziraphale’s smiled faltered. “She stuck you on Earth, gave you a shit job that everyone knew you would fail, and then you dare come in here and act like you’re important?! _I’m_ in charge, _have_ been in charge! The only reason you haven’t been cast down is because you’re not _worth_ it! Do you understand me? _You’re worthless_!”

Aziraphale remembered Eve’s hugs, Adam’s smiles, the hope on their faces when he gave them a way to protect themselves. He remembered the Humans being his friends. And he continued to smile, as he told Gabriel, “I’m not.”

Gabriel’s will pressed against Aziraphale’s, buzzing with fury; Aziraphale pushed it away with his own, easily.

“Fine,” Gabriel said, his voice suddenly deadly soft, if rough from shouting. “That’s the way it’s going to be, is it?”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Heaven disappeared.

Aziraphale blinked, surprised. He felt nothing—he could hear nothing. He unclasped his hands, he thought, and lowered them to his lap. Did he have a lap? Did he have a body? He wasn’t sure.

The calm still gripped him. He did not panic. He simply waited.

He couldn’t tell if he was blinking, but he knew that just as suddenly as everything had disappeared, things reappeared.

The room was different. It was a tiny box, with a single lamp on the wall opposite him. He was strapped to a chair, and his wings were spread and strapped to a frame so they couldn’t close. He frowned, and looked for a door, but there didn’t seem to be one. Not on the floor, not on the walls, not on the ceiling. How odd.

Several minutes passed. He waited for something to happen. But nothing did. He shifted in his chair, restless and not quite knowing why. He decided to use the lamp as a timer. When it ran out, he’d know he’d been here for several hours.

But it didn’t run out.

Aziraphale sat for a very long time, looking around, worrying about the Humans, watching the flame, wondering why the scent of ‘demon’ still clung to him. But the level of oil in the lamp did not change. Eventually the calm wore away, and he became very aware that his internal clock was broken. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting there and no idea how long he’d remain.

Surely God would intervene though. Surely. Before anything bad happened.

But still. God was so… absent, lately. Would She notice anything besides the ultimate punishment?

Tension slowly built in his gut. Gabriel wouldn’t leave him locked up and alone forever; no, he liked gloating and yelling too much. Aziraphale had probably fucked up by remaining outside his influence.

Aziraphale shifted in his chair, and flinched as his feathers pulled. The framework seemed to be constructed out of wood of some sort, but it had no smell, and was made at the most uncomfortable angle; every move hurt. His old wound on his thigh was aching. But if he focused on the pain, that would just make everything take longer. So he tried to think of something to do.

He hummed some hymns to himself, but they didn’t distract from the absolute emptiness around him. He was so used to Eden—lush and full of smells and gold light beside green shadow, a visual feast—that this plain white room with nothing in it made him nervous. And sounds—there had been birds in the garden, birds and insects making little noises that he had learned to accept instead of constantly hating them. This place was silent except for the noises he himself made.

He couldn’t even smell the spicy patch on his wing anymore.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. But a creeping thought came upon him, one that made his gut hurt.

Had he been forgotten?

Had Gabriel been right? Was he so worthless that no one, not even Gabriel, remembered who and where he was? Adam and Eve would surely remember him, wouldn’t they? Even if they never saw him again—if he never got to hold the first baby, never stood with them, never saw them grow and earn the world—they would think of him. Right? But they weren’t in Heaven. Aziraphale was.

What if he never saw another Human again? What if he couldn’t be beside them when they rose above their beginnings? He’d sworn to protect them, to guide them, and now he didn’t know where they were or if they lived or what had happened to them when they’d eaten the fruit, and he didn’t know if he’d ever learn. He squirmed a little, restless with nerves.

How long had it been?

As time stretched on, Aziraphale became more and more worried, more and more eaten up with panic, that he was going to be forgotten even with his Name. Back in the heap of nameless angels, soldiers with no individuality. It wasn’t the power that he missed; it was being _seen_. Having friends. Existing in a way that meant he had a purpose other than dying for God.

How long had he been here?

He tugged against the bonds on his wrists. He strained forward against the strap around his chest and biceps. He tried to flex his caged wings. He began to shake, as he had a thought that refused to leave him. What if he was left here until the End? What if he stayed, frozen, until the Final War destroyed the world? What if he never got a chance to warn the Humans? He flexed his legs and feet, but the bonds on his ankles held firm. He whimpered, as a chill crept over him.

How long had it been?

He felt almost wild with fear, now. Forgotten. Alone, lost, forgotten. His old wound was hurting so badly he could barely think coherently. He strained against the straps, hoping they’d give. His wings jerked and shuddered, but the wooden cages didn’t even creak. He bit his lip to hold in a moan of fear, and struggled more.

And then he started seeing things.

He was looking so hard for a door, a crack, anything, that he honestly felt a flutter of hope when he saw the shadow at the edge of his vision; but when he looked again, there was nothing. Another shadow, another quick twist of his head; nothing. Distantly, he heard running water—or was it in his head? No, surely not… the lamp wavered. His eyes snapped to it again, and he watched with wide eyes, as the level of oil in the lamp began to fluctuate. Up, down, ripples—no, it wasn’t moving. But staring at it hard enough, trying to be sure, he thought it did. He could not trust his eyes, right now. He shut them tightly.

But even when he opened them again, it wasn’t long before the shadows returned.

Had they forgotten him?

How long has it been…?

~

The sound of a fumbled doorknob broke through a haze of remembered whispers.

Aziraphale blinked as cracks formed in the wall opposite him. And then the cracks became a door opening just enough to let in a slim shadow—who turned and stared.

“Aziraphale?” Crawley the demon whispered.

“Hello,” Aziraphale replied, blinking hard. “Are… are you real?”

“Of course I’m real.” Crawley crossed the small room swiftly and touched its fingertips to his jaw, tilting his head up. Why did the demon look distressed? “How long have you been in here?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale answered, turning towards the touch. The smell of spices was very close, and the touch of Crawley’s fingers was pleasantly warm. “You _are_ real.” Then he had a terrible thought. “Gabriel is going to smite you.”

“He’ll have to catch me first,” Crawley replied grimly, and took its hand away to lick one fingertip and start burning through the straps holding Aziraphale down, first his hands, then his chest, then his legs. Then the demon grabbed the frameworks holding Aziraphale’s wings and snapped strategic struts until Aziraphale was free. “There. Come on, we’re leaving.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me drag you. I’m not letting you stay here one more minute.”

Aziraphale went quietly.

Heaven reformed itself, but not around Aziraphale’s will—Crawley’s was so strong that Aziraphale stumbled several times as the floor lurched. Crawley was obviously trying to be fast as well as sneaky, but Aziraphale had never been either, so he followed Crawley as best he could, wincing as his bare feet scuffed on the icy floor, in the icy silence.

“STOP THEM!”

Aziraphale didn’t need Crawley’s direction when he heard that voice. He grabbed the demon’s arm and pelted down a familiar corridor, forcing it to shorten for them so they could reach the ledge. Gabriel was still shouting behind them, and Crawley was matching Aziraphale’s speed, so Aziraphale gave himself over to running and manipulating the corridor.

They flung themselves off the ledge, spreading their wings to catch the wind, just as God’s voice thundered, **GABRIEL 2B5 COME TO THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER IMMEDIATELY.**

A shout of fury followed the angel and demon as they flew as fast as they could for the air of Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say this every chapter but honestly comments really do make me write more and faster, and also remind me that people are reading. So if you could be so kind as to leave a comment, that would be fantastic. Thank you. <3


	5. Book of Aziraphale, 3:2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling bad so I'm gonna post this even though I don't have chp 6 finished

They settled under an olive tree in a garden when they reached Earth, silent on the wing and silent when they landed.

Aziraphale sank to the ground, wings spread and slumped, and leaned against the tree, shaking. He couldn’t quite believe that he was out of that empty room with its never-ending light. It was dark here, and the stars were different from those over Eden. There were night-flowers blooming somewhere, and he took deep breaths of air scented with plants and earth and wood smoke—and that peculiar spicy scent that came from the demon.

“How long?” he whispered, his hands tight on the grass around the tree. “How long was I…?”

“It’s been a few centuries,” Crawley replied softly, its wings mantled as it crouched near Aziraphale. “The humans have definitely expanded. They have countries and empires now; this is Mesopotamia. Not sure where,” it mused, turning its head to scan the garden. It was a small, well-tended, gentle kind of garden: flowers, yes, but herbs and vegetables as well. There were three fig trees nearby. “I went for the first place that… that felt right. Which means it’s probably not right for you, being an angel and all.”

Aziraphale barely heard what the demon was saying. Centuries. He’d been locked up for centuries. They _had_ forgotten about him. He bit his lip hard, but he couldn’t completely stifle a whimper.

“Wha—what’s wrong?” Crawley went down on hands and knees and crawled closer, looking honestly alarmed. “Aziraphale?”

“They forgot about me,” Aziraphale whispered, and had to close his eyes—so blessedly dark behind his eyelids—and hug himself tightly to stave off any more embarrassing noises.

“The angels?” Crawley sounded surprised. And then its voice turned harsh. “The angels _locked you up_ there _for centuries_?”

Aziraphale nodded, wishing he could cry. Eve and Adam had always seemed to feel better after crying. Why couldn’t angels?

Crawley crawled closer and put its arm around his shoulders. It was shaking too, but Aziraphale could feel the anger in it. “Those bastards,” Crawley hissed, fury in its voice, though Aziraphale didn’t dare turn his head to look at its face. “How did it get that bad? Michael and Uriel are supposed to be _fair_, damn it.”

“They were scared,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Everyone was scared. Gabriel. He’s in charge now. Soldier 2B5.”

“2B5.” The hatred in Crawley’s voice was frightening. “That little fuck is Gabriel now?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale whimpered again and scrunched his nose up as he tightened his closed eyes. “He said… he said...”

“Shhh.” Crawley squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders gently. “It doesn’t matter what he said. His opinion is worthless. Just… breathe. Just breathe.”

Aziraphale obeyed. He had always been obedient.

The sky wheeled, the deep velvet night becoming soft silver dawn. Crawley seemed content to hold Aziraphale as he shook and was in turns so angry his skin felt on fire and so despairing that his gut felt like lead.

As the sun touched gold to the sky, Aziraphale realized something.

“You remembered me,” he said softly, turning his head to look at Crawley. “How did you remember me?”

Crawley shrugged uncomfortably. “You’re the only angel I’ve met since the Fall who wasn’t violent.”

Aziraphale nodded. He could believe that. The soldiers in his division had used to boast about their fighting skills. If soldiers were still like that, they would probably enjoy using those fighting skills on their enemies. He sighed heavily and… found himself leaning on Crawley, tucking his wing around the demon as he pressed closer. Crawley rearranged its own wings to fold more comfortably under Aziraphale’s.

It was nice.

Too nice.

Aziraphale scrambled to his feet, brushing the dirt from his robe with nervous movements. He looked around, and realized that the world was stirring. There were many, many shelters—houses? An animal barked. In the distance, wood creaked. Aziraphale felt even more frightened. Did the Humans remember angels? Should he hide his wings? Did Humans wear clothes now?

“Hide your wings,” Crawley hissed behind him urgently. Aziraphale turned, and saw that the demon was standing, and its wings were gone. “Pull them in.”

Aziraphale took a breath and did his best, pulling each bone, tendon, and feather beneath his skin, to hide in his endless spiritual Self. It was uncomfortable—he’d only done it once before, and he still ached from the restraints—but at least he looked more Human. He looked around again, realizing there was nowhere to hide, and felt a great anxiety. His hands clenched on his robe over his stomach. What now? What now?!

Crawley grabbed his arm and dragged him to the wall, both of them skipping around the vegetable patch. Crawley leapt over first; Aziraphale followed, and tried not to be even more anxious when Crawley beckoned and started walking down the path, which was quite wide. Finally Aziraphale decided to just give in, and hurried to catch up with Crawley.

“Where now?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“There’s a hill nearby; we can sit there and work out what to do next,” Crawley answered, watching everything sharply. “The humans haven’t built on it—yet.”

Aziraphale tugged his robe in distress, but said nothing.

They saw only one other person in the faint dawn, and that person didn’t see them. Aziraphale grew tired and tugged silently on Crawley’s sleeve; the demon slowed its steps, and Aziraphale forgot to let go. So they reached the hill, and climbed a winding path, and then hid in a little corner made by two outcroppings of rock nestled together. They did not sit too close together.

“So,” Crawley said, watching Aziraphale carefully. “Adam and Eve were kicked out, we fixed the wall, and…? What happened?”

“She asked me what I had done with my sword,” Aziraphale answered quietly, “And then Michael called me back to Heaven. I… I angered Gabriel.” He wrapped his arms around his legs to hold in the shakes. “He locked me up.”

“Hmm.” Crawley scowled a little. “Well… I’ll tell you now, the Humans have really outdone all expectations. There’s the usual people who follow the Creator, but there’s other religions too, now. And there are people who don’t believe anything at all. It’s very interesting. And everyone is a little good and bad, regardless of belief, so that’s fun when trying to sort souls. There aren’t very many pale people in this city, though some of the demons who were assigned elsewhere say that the Humans have really changed in shades and shapes. We’ll stand out here.”

“We?”

“We,” the demon repeated firmly. “Don’t tell me you want to go back to Heaven.”

“No,” Aziraphale replied, shivering briefly. “I don’t.”

“Then we’ll both have to stick around here. You know 2B5 as well as I do; they won’t think we’ll stay so close to the holy lands.” Crawley ran its hand through its red curls and grimaced. “I have to go back to Hell. I was sent to… uh… _liberate_ some information, I need to return to the Council to hand it over.”

“What information did you take?” Aziraphale asked, alarmed.

“Defenses. But apparently there aren’t any, which is strange, but...” Crawley blinked, and looked at Aziraphale again. “What happened to your division?” it asked.

“2B5—Gabriel—he dissolved it,” Aziraphale answered. He knew he should be reluctant to tell a demon anything, but this one had taken him from Heaven and was trying to protect him. Odd, that a demon was kinder than his own family. “I’m sure he has his own soldiers and spies, but there is no Division of Defense anymore.”

“Are you UnNamed?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Crawley rubbed its face, not quite looking at Aziraphale. “That’s… extreme.” Then a slow smile grew, becoming almost as frightening as Gabriel’s. “If the demons attack in force, won’t he have to reform the Defenses?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied honestly. “But if—if you try to attack Heaven, I’ll go back and warn them.”

Crawley stared at him. He put on his most stubborn expression, though he felt scared and sick. “You’ll go back to the people who betrayed you?” the demon asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“For Satan’s sake, _why_?!”

Aziraphale thought of Raphael, of Uriel, of Michael, of the Nameless angels that he had a responsibility to protect. He wasn’t sure of his words, so he settled for, “I’m still loyal to them.”

“_Loyal_ to—” Crawley spluttered, rage on its face. “They hurt you!”

“They had to! They would’ve been in trouble if they didn’t!” Aziraphale retorted, stomach twisting fearfully. “And anyway it wasn’t them, it was mostly just Gabriel. He’s been… doing something. Making everyone scared.” Aziraphale shivered and looked down. He didn’t want to think about it. “What… should I do now?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because I don’t know.”

Crawley sighed, and it sounded frustrated. “I guess… just hide. For now, at least. When you’re feeling better, either go back to the city and look for the temple, or wait and I’ll come find you again. Soak up the sun a bit. You’ll be fine.” And then Crawley stood and walked away. Aziraphale watched the demon go, surprised. But… well… the sun was quite nice. And he was still too shaky to speak to another living being. So he shifted and nestled into the crevice of the rocks, and leaned his head back, closing his eyes and letting the golden sunlight sink into his skin. He stopped feeling so cold inside.

This was nice. Not thinking. Hard, because he still trembled, fighting thoughts of being abandoned, feelings of worthlessness; but nice. He heard the sounds of insects, and animals other than birds. A breeze touched his cheek, patting him as it passed. Human voices rose from the city, as the morning got on. Aziraphale listened, and enjoyed the sounds, the warmth of the sun, the solidity of the stones, and the tiny movements of air. He was relieved that he could move. But it was nice to just sit too.

He wondered why it had felt nice to sit with Crawley. Maybe just because Aziraphale missed touching.

Time passed, but now he could feel it in the movement of the sun, the sounds of the city. He knew exactly how much of the day had passed by the time he heard the soft rattle of moving pebbles.

He raised his head and opened his eyes, and blinked at the giant snake easing out of the ground, coiling up beside him before raising itself up and becoming Crawley. The demon looked tired and had a black eye. Unthinking, Aziraphale made a little concerned noise and asked, “What happened?”

“Hastur didn’t like my report,” Crawley replied stiffly, then sighed and sat beside Aziraphale. “Not much difference, between Heaven and Hell. Oh, Heaven is definitely cleaner,” a flash of regret on the demon’s face “But the power jockeying is the same.”

“Power jockeying?” Aziraphale took a breath to say there wasn’t any in Heaven—then realized that was a lie, and let the breath out. Instead he asked timidly, “Is it scary, down there?”

Crawley licked its lips, then nodded. “Everyone’s bitter. No one’s forgotten who cast us down and why. And instead of doing the logical thing, getting revenge against the angels, they take it out on each other.” Crawley hesitated, then added, not looking at Aziraphale, “Although if they find out I pulled an angel out of Heaven, I’ll probably end up being doused in holy water.”

“Surely not!” Aziraphale protested, alarmed. “Not for something small like letting out a nobody!”

“You’re not nobody. You’re Aziraphale.” Crawley shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if your division was dissolved, or if you were a soldier before you were Aziraphale, and therefore had no say in anything. You have power. You are an enemy.”

“Then why haven’t you killed me?”

A most curious thing happened. Crawley’s entire face and neck turned a fiery red, and it made a little muttery noise that wasn’t actual words. It refused to look at Aziraphale, too, and clenched its hands on the stones. Aziraphale, startled, just stared, and didn’t take it back.

Suddenly Crawley looked up at the sky, then scrambled to its feet, talking fast. “Oh, will you look at the time, perhaps we had better be on our way. There’s a few Human children that like to play up here and they’ll definitely be—”

“Children?” A swell of excitement swept away Aziraphale’s surprise. He stood too, stumbling a little as pebbles shifted under his feet. “The Humans have children?”

“Of course they do,” Crawley replied, frowning. “That’s how they multiply.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale braced himself on one of the rocks as dizziness hit for a moment. He shouldn’t have stood so fast. “No one told me.”

“Well, you’re missing out. Children are—” Crawley caught itself, turned red again, and stammered, “Fun to, to tempt! Yes! It’s very fun to tempt children to disobedience.”

Aziraphale smiled slowly. “Can we go into the city? I want to see the Humans.”

“That’s not a very good idea...” Crawley hedged, shifting its weight.

“Please?”

Crawley looked at Aziraphale’s face, and then away. “Alright. Yes. Let’s go see the Humans.”

Aziraphale wondered if all demons were this easy to sway.

They walked slowly down the hill into the city. Aziraphale had to keep blinking, and kept his eyes down. The sun was almost as bright as the little room, and he wasn’t ready for that. He pretended he was just watching his footing.

It was nice to have all four senses free, though. The breeze, the solid earth, the feeling of his body moving freely; the varied landscape, the city, the view from the hill; the scents, a mishmash of pleasant and disgusting that he couldn’t begin to describe; and the sounds, faint at first, but as they got nearer to the city, louder and more distinct. Aziraphale lifted his head cautiously and felt something in his chest squeeze, as he saw Humans moving in the city.

Crawley glanced at him from time to time, thoughtfully, but said nothing.

They had just stepped on to level ground when a group of small Humans jumped up from behind a large rock and ran towards them, shrieking and laughing. Aziraphale halted, surprised; Crawley grinned and quickened its steps, bending to scoop two of the small Humans up and balance one on either hip, listening to the group chatter, letting them pull its robe (and its hair, in the case of the Human on its left hip).

Aziraphale hung back, suddenly nervous. He could understand the language just fine, but the concepts didn’t make sense. They were asking Crawley to “play” with them. What was play? Was it some form of combat training? These Humans didn’t look big enough for combat, though.

Crawley turned a little, and said, in the same language as the little ones, “Come on, they don’t bite. Children, this is my colleague, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale managed a smile and took two tiny steps closer. The children—children! Of course! Tiny, new Humans! Play must be their word for learning. “Hello,” he said, a little awkwardly, but hoping he didn’t frighten them.

The children stared warily for all of two seconds. Then they all smiled back, and one of them, the tallest, asked Aziraphale, “Are you from the same place he is?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, because when you got down to it, that was the truth. And he had sworn never to lie to the Humans.

“Mesh-He, go tell Father that Crowley brought a friend,” the tallest child ordered one of the smaller ones. The smaller child pouted, but obediently ran off. Aziraphale tried not to show his unease at being called a demon’s friend. Crawley did not see, looking at the leader of the children and raising an eyebrow at them.

“Still ordering your brothers around, Pirhum?” it—he asked dryly.

Pirhum grinned at him. “Yes. Will you both play with us?”

“What do you want to play?” Crawley retorted, but instead of just looking at Pirhum, who should have been the one to choose, being in charge, Crawley looked all of the children in the eyes as he asked. “Nothing too strenuous; Aziraphale’s had a long journey.”

The children all began clamoring to “play a game” that seemed to involve running, but they all agreed graciously that Aziraphale could sit out until he was rested, so he could learn the rules. The soft look on Crawley’s face was… strange. Aziraphale could almost forget he was a demon.

Somehow, Aziraphale found himself shooed to a relatively flat rock to sit, while Crawley and the children began an incomprehensible activity that included lots of running and kicking a ball around. One of the smallest (youngest?) children plopped beside Aziraphale and asked, “Do you have this game where you come from?”

“No,” Aziraphale replied. “What are the rules?”

The child shook their head in mock disappointment, then grinned and started telling him. But then all the children went quiet, and Aziraphale looked up, to see a very broad-shouldered Human with hair on his face walking towards them, following Mesh-He. With the hair, Aziraphale could not read his expression. Not until he smiled broadly and said, “Hello, Crowley. It’s been a while.”

“That it has,” Crawley replied with a grin of his own. “Ensi, may I introduce my colleague, Aziraphale.” Aziraphale rose and tried on another smile. “Aziraphale, this is Ensi Udish. He rules the city.”

Apprehension squeezed Aziraphale’s gut, but his smile did not waver. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said.

The Humans looked at him oddly. Crawley sighed and told them, “That’s how we greet people where we come from. Don’t mind him, he’s still not good with conversation.”

Aziraphale shot Crawley a disgruntled glare, and the children giggled. Ensi Udish smiled again. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Aziraphale. Feel free to visit my home whenever you wish, both of you.” The Human looked at the children and told them, “Don’t wear them out. And come home for noon-meal, all of you. Otherwise you’ll complain all afternoon.”

The children promised in a ragged chorus. Aziraphale held in a sigh, as he glanced up at the sun. Noon-meal was a long, long time away.

But he could not begrudge those shining eyes and hopeful smiles. So when Ensi Udish and Crawley finished talking, and the children began “playing” again, Aziraphale sat on his rock, listened to the rules, and watched sharply, marking out the teams. And when three children laughed as they ran over and pulled him to his feet, he went willingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


	6. Interlude: Book of Crowley, 1:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I actually thought of a way to name chapters!
> 
> Also this is very late and also very short! I am so sorry! Please forgive!

God had given him a choice.

**Stay and do as I command, or leave and never return.**

Raphael had considered this. Lucifer’s boldness had frightened him, but really, his questions had been reasonable, if over-exuberantly expressed. Maybe Lucifer would build a new world. A better one. One where curiosity and respect were more important than obedience.

“I will leave,” Raphael had said.

**Then go. There is a stair in the Chasm.**

Raphael had nodded, and left the Chamber of God, to go to the Chasm and fall at a more leisurely pace.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard God’s cold anger, Her tone sharp enough that Raphael flinched, even as he walked away. But there, the iron door; he opened it and crept through, closing it behind him.

There was indeed a stair. It was narrow and had no rail, but he drew his wings into his heavenly form and descended, one hand on the silk-smooth wall. His halo popped into being as he went further and further down—as the light of Heaven was left behind. Now he traveled in his own globe of light, shivering at the cold. He had never thought of Heaven as warm, unless he was out in the gardens, helping the Creators heal and design plants. But this shaft into the center of Nothing, this was colder than anything he had ever experienced, colder even than the deep space in which he’d hung the stars. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, his feet numb from the icy steps.

He didn’t know how long he’d been walking before he heard screams.

He looked up reflexively, and shrank back against the wall as a speck of light above him got closer and closer, as did the scream. The speck was joined by others, until he realized what they were.

Halos. These were angels falling.

He stared, horrified. It was a veritable rain, angels smoking and streaked with soot, many marked with war wounds. Wings flailed, but none of them seemed able to stop their fall. Raphael wanted to turn his face away, but he couldn’t. The screams were all around him, as more and more angels fell. He covered his mouth with his hands to hold in a whimper of fear.

The new world would not be better. The prophecy slammed into his chest and made him sway. The new world that Lucifer was going to build would not be better.

It seemed forever until the terrified screams were drowned out by a furious roar, and a blaze of light plummeted down. Raphael turned away, closing his eyes and mantling his wings around himself, and still saw Lucifer’s light approach. The cold seemed to be shoved out of the way as the Light-bringer’s fire seared the air—and when he passed Raphael, the heat of his passing left ash on Raphael’s wings and robe.

A sudden sharp tug in his center, and Raphael gasped in pain—and his Name slipped away.

The nameless angel shivered on the stair for a long time. Then he—it—turned, and began descending again.

~

None of them were allowed to speak of their lives in Heaven. Satan was adamant about that.

The angel who had once been named Raphael became the demon Crawley. Satan chose the name, not it. It sometimes felt this was an act of spite; Satan thought it had come crawling down the steps instead of falling like a true traitor, and so it was named Crawley. It took this without comment.

Crawley was given responsibility. It was to take the most maimed demons and heal them as best it could, so that they could prepare for fighting the angels. It tried to question this strategy and was silenced, so it did as it was told and took over healing.

There were too many injured. Crawley recruited the other demons who were once Healers, but there were only twenty of them and 200 demons. No one was unharmed—except Crawley.

In time, life in the dusty, cramped tunnels of the place Satan dubbed “Hell” ground ash into Crawley’s feathers, stained its robe with dirt, until finally it did as the others had, and dunked its robe in the Fire where Satan had decided to send the souls of the humans, when they came to Hell. The black became a uniform, much as white and cream used to be. Crawley couldn’t say it minded that part.

Once, there was a commotion; a new angel fell, and was gleefully dragged before Satan. Crawley was there in the throne room because it wearily anticipated the newly fallen to be injured in a fight. But they weren’t. When Crawley got a look at their face, its eyes widened. Gabriel. The archangel Gabriel.

Gabriel no more. Satan decided that their name was Hastur, and did the twist he had done to all the demons (except Crawley), turning their words around and around, wrapping them in lies and doubt and anger until they knew that the only person they could trust was Satan, and no one, not even the other demons, would help them.

Crawley watched silently, and slipped away before Satan could notice it.

Finally, all the demons were healed, and Crawley was called to the Throne. It went promptly, ignoring how most of the demons watched it with sullen respect. They would all change their minds in a heartbeat if Satan told them to.

There were no questions, there was no respect. There was only obedience.

Satan was waiting for it. Crawley bowed low, and said, “You sent for me, Majesty?”

Satan smiled cruelly. “Oh, yes. There’s a little place on Earth called Eden, and I need you to go there and do something very, very important.”

Crawley listened silently as Satan told it what to expect and what to do. With a wave of his clawed hand, Satan gifted Crawley with the ability to shapeshift; it bowed, thanked him, and left to find a tunnel it could shape to its will, to go from the close confines of Hell to the outer airs of Earth.

Eden was… gorgeous. Crawley crawled out of the earth faster, just to feel the sun on its coils, the dappled shade, the gently-moving breeze. The plants were wilder and lusher than anything in Heaven, and Crawley felt a deep amazement.

This was a good place. A wonderful place. It slithered through the brush, looking everywhere, flicking its tongue out to smell the myriad scents. It stopped only when it heard laughter, and speech.

Peeking out from under a large bush, Crawley saw the humans and an angel.

The humans were… not that different from an angel or demon in shape. They had an alertness, an eagerness, that Crawley had never seen on the faces of any of its kin. And the angel was… familiar. Crawley flicked its tongue as the angel laughed at something Eve said. It was not scornful, but truly amused and affectionate. Crawley was startled. Satan had asked if angels could love—Crawley wasn’t sure what love looked like, but it thought it might look like this. Love looked like an angel who enjoyed the company of humans.

Knowing what it had to do, Crawley felt a little guilty, even though there was also a masochistic, bitter kind of joy in this. Hurt the angel. Even if the angel wasn’t one who had wounded it personally, it still obeyed without question. Hurt it.

Crawley looked to the humans. Another twinge of guilt hit it. Their faces were alive with interest, with emotion, with innocence. Was it really worth it? To hurt innocents, just because Crawley was told to? It had fallen for not obeying. Why should it obey this order?

Come to think of it, why should the humans obey, either?

Crawley was so caught up in the struggle of trying to understand and reason that it almost didn’t notice when the angel and the humans parted ways. It froze and was glad none of them came near it.

Crawley thought for most of the cold night, curled up in a ball under a tree. In the morning, it still had no concrete answer. Still, it soothed itself with the knowledge that if it could convince the humans that they need not obey, perhaps _they_ would make a world where questions and respect were important. That would be nice.

So it slithered through the garden of Eden and approached the first human it could find. Eve, it thought, since she had more hair. Satan had given vague, scornful descriptions, and said Adam would be a better target.

In a small way, Crawley disobeyed Satan, by going to the human it knew he did not prefer.

Eve was rubbing her stomach absently, gazing at the stream before her with a pensive expression. Crawley rose up behind her, hesitated… then began to whisper to her, adding Authority to its voice.

She resisted. She was more worried about disappointing the angel than disobeying God, which was interesting. But Crawley was a wily one; it twisted her words, made her think about the possibility of the angel being proud that she had been bold enough to do something forbidden. It used Authority to impress on her that this was actually quite a vital decision, one she must make and act on quickly, before she lost her nerve.

In a way, this decision _was_ vital. It would change the course of human history. But she didn’t know that. All she knew was obedience, and love, and wanting to make someone proud.

Would not the angel who protected and loved her and Adam be more pleased than an absent God who never spoke to them, who left them on their own and did not even seem to acknowledge them? With the knowledge of good and evil, she could be more like him. Was that not a good thing? To know what God wanted, to act on it without worry? Like the angel who was her friend?

Didn’t she want to be free?

Crawley saw the change in her expression, when it finally managed to convince her. It was slight, so slight, that the demon almost missed it. But it was there. And the demon whispered empty promises, that this courageous act would elevate her and Adam, would bring them closer to the unknowable God. It hissed questions and did not give her time to answer them. It wore her down.

It took hours. But finally, Eve nodded, and stood, and walked to the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment pls


	7. Interlude: Book of Crowley, 2:1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's short

Crowley walked the children home, hiding a smirk as some of them bombarded Aziraphale with questions and answered his own with artless candor. Aziraphale looked less frightened, now. Less like he’d been taken from the jaws of the enemy merely a day ago.

Crowley was disgusted with himself for being happy that Aziraphale was smiling as he talked to the children. It wasn’t like he actually _cared_ if Aziraphale was feeling better. He was an angel; Crowley was a demon. They were enemies. He should’ve killed Aziraphale when he had the chance. Any other demon would’ve.

But he couldn’t. Aziraphale was too… familiar. Crowley remembered the time before Falling; remembered being in charge, remembered hating that but loving the work. He couldn’t quite remember names and faces, though. But Aziraphale was familiar, and that stayed his hand.

Also the children obviously found Aziraphale entertaining, and it was quite fun, egging on their more inappropriate questions, like little Sin-Nada asking, “Aziraphale, why is your hair white?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley realized that Aziraphale sounded very much like a curious child himself. A young angel. One who didn’t know how God had been, in the very Beginning. “I was made this way.”

“You’ve looked like this since you were a _kid_?” Anba demanded, eyes wide with fascination as he walked backwards to look up into Aziraphale’s face. Crowley flicked a pebble out of Anba’s way with a thought before the boy could stumble.

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered, “And it’s very annoying. Most of my siblings have dark hair.”

“Why don’t you like being different?” asked Sin-Nada, frowning. “I’d _love_ to be different from my twin.”

“Because being different is… not good, in my family.” Aziraphale’s expression darkened, but then he blinked and it faded. Crowley wondered what that meant.

“Crowley, my feet hurt, will you carry me?” Yayatum complained, dragging on Crowley’s arm.

“You’re getting too big for me to carry,” Crowley replied, but stooped and picked him up anyway. It was no hardship. For a demon who once hung the stars, manipulating local gravity wasn’t that hard.

Aziraphale looked like he was hiding a smile. Crowley felt his face turn red again.

The children peeled off as they reached their homes, waving and yelling goodbye. Soon they walked only with Pirhum, Mesh-He, and their little sister, Nisaba. Aziraphale had relented and was carrying Nisaba, quite competently, for all that he had probably never carried a child before. Nisaba was half-asleep after an afternoon of vigorous play and missing her nap; she yawned often, her face snuggled into Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley wondered what she thought of the angel’s scent. It was a soft and clean scent, like leaves after rain.

“Will you stay for dinner?” Mesh-He asked, as they approached their home, the biggest and fanciest house in the city.

“No, thank you,” Crowley replied politely. “We have to find a place to stay for the night.”

“You can stay in the guest rooms,” Pirhum piped up, skipping sideways to look up at the visitors. “Father won’t mind.”

Aziraphale was silent, face troubled as he thought. Crowley shrugged and nudged Aziraphale’s arm with his elbow. Slipping into the Heavenly Tongue, he asked, “Well? We’ll be safe from the others. Angels don’t ever look in human homes.”

Aziraphale blinked, then smiled very slightly. “That’s true,” he replied in the same language. “If you’re sure no one will be hurt...”

“They’re safe.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley searchingly. And then he nodded, and turned to Pirhum and said formally, “We would be honored.”

Pirhum and Mesh-He whooped, and Nisaba woke up enough to make her own little noise of celebration before finally falling asleep completely.

Dinner was cooking as they entered the gates; Crowley’s preternaturally sensitive nose could smell the spices and the vegetables. Aziraphale had smelled the food too, apparently; his nose was twitching, and he seemed fascinated. The boys noticed, and grinned.

“That’s dinner you’re smelling,” Mesh-He said proudly. “Our cook is the best in the city.”

“I can certainly believe that,” Aziraphale murmured, and Mesh-He giggled.

Entering the home, the scent was even more pronounced. A cousin in service to the Ensi met them, and frowned, but simply told the boys, “You had better wash up before eating. Who is this?”

“Aziraphale!” Pirhum replied. “He’s Crowley’s friend.”

“More like associate,” Aziraphale cut in, looking just a touch embarrassed.

The cousin looked at him oddly, but nodded and said, “I’ll take Nisaba. Her mother is worried.”

Aziraphale handed over the sleeping child with no protest, though he looked quite unhappy, especially when she twisted and whimpered in her sleep, clutching at his sleeve until the cousin gently pulled her away. Then the boys took over, herding Crowley and Aziraphale to the room just off the kitchen that Crowley could never figure out the function of. It seemed to be for eating, but also for business, and also for relaxing, and it really was a bit bewildering for a creature whose own “home” such as it were was strictly divided.

Not that there was ever any relaxation in Hell. There were designated cubbies where each demon got half a candlemark to scream and cry as they wished, before going back to the endless drudgery of Hell. Satan had been considering having them demolished or turned into cells for souls, when Crowley went to report.

But dinner was being laid, and another servant blocked them and insisted they wash their hands. Aziraphale looked startled. Well, of course; in Eden, they had not washed their hands. But this was Earth. So Crowley nodded to the servant and pulled Aziraphale away to clean themselves.

Ensi Udish and his family arrived in clumps, and while he scolded his youngest sons for presuming, he still welcomed the visitors. Crowley thanked him gravely, and Aziraphale followed his lead.

Sitting at the table, Crowley could appreciate the scent; but he had never enjoyed food. It was… too much. His form did not need nutrients, not quite (the longer he stayed on Earth, the more solid he became, but that would take a while), so he tried to avoid eating. The family knew this, and it was not remarked upon.

Aziraphale, however, took one bite of bread and his eyes went wide, and he smiled with real pleasure. Of course—there had been no cooked food in Eden, either. Crowley didn’t know why, but he took a certain selfish delight in Aziraphale enjoying every dish, and saying so. He was… charming, in his not knowing. He managed to mimic the rituals of eating perfectly just by watching sharply, but his questions about what each dish was, and his knowledge of at least the vegetables and fruits, kept at bay questions of where he was from.

Crowley was silent unless spoken to, and the family was used to that, too. So in all, it was a very good meal.

Ensi Udish confirmed his sons’ predictions, and asked if they would like to stay the night, since the two guest rooms were free and they were surely tired from their journey. Crowley accepted graciously when Aziraphale wavered, and so that hurdle was passed.

After dinner, Aziraphale asked quietly if he could be excused, for he was very tired. Crowley, seeing the tight lines around his eyes, thought it was more than that. But he touched Aziraphale’s elbow lightly, and stayed, while a servant showed Aziraphale to his room.

~

Crowley was just dozing off, content and relaxed, when the door to his room eased open.

“Crawley?” Aziraphale whispered nervously. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Crowley sighed, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the door behind him and walked softly over to stand a few yards away. His hands were twisting in his robe again, and even in the dim light, Crowley saw that his face was frightened.

“I’m scared,” the angel answered softly.

“Of what?” Crowley asked, frowning. “I told you, the angels won’t look for us here.”

“But what if they do? What if they kill you and hurt the humans?” Aziraphale’s hands twisted harder. “He’s not going to stop. He’ll never stop. I don’t want anyone to be hurt—”

“Come here.”

Aziraphale hesitated, then walked over, and let Crowley pull him down so he was sitting on the edge of the mattress. He was shivering. Crowley sighed quietly, and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, hugging him awkwardly but firmly. Aziraphale did not hesitate, hugging back tightly, burying his face in Crowley’s shoulder.

“We’re safe,” Crowley told him firmly. He overlaid his voice with Persuasion and Authority. “**We’re safe here, angel.**”

And though this home was blessed in its entirety, Crowley still managed to build an invisible shell of warding, of deflection, of hiding. A globe of Power, tainted with bitterness, but still neither angel nor demon, encompassed the compound. Angels would not sense them. Demons would not smell them. They were safe.

Aziraphale relaxed, slowly. His shivering calmed. He didn’t raise his head, though.

“Do you think you can go to your own room now?” Crowley asked softly after a while.

Aziraphale shook his head, his curls brushing Crowley’s jaw. “I—I need—orders,” he whispered, and he sounded so lost and afraid that Crowley’s chest ached. “I’m supposed to protect them, but they already protect themselves. I need orders. What do I do?”

“You stop looking to others for leadership, for one,” Crowley replied, trying to make his own tone biting. It didn’t really work. He just sounded uncomfortable. “You were chosen as Aziraphale. You have the ability to give _yourself_ orders. So. What do you _want_ to do?”

“Protect,” Aziraphale answered promptly.

“Who?”

“The humans.”

“Alright, but there are already humans who can protect themselves. Who do you want to protect in particular?”

Silence. Crowley didn’t rush him, listening sharply for any humans who might notice that Aziraphale was out of his room, or that there had been talking here. He wasn’t exactly sure of the punishment accorded to those who spoke together in the night, but he knew it happened.

“I would say children,” Aziraphale murmured, “But they’re all children to me. They’re all so _young_. They don’t _know_.”

Crowley remembered his own thoughts from earlier, about Aziraphale seeming young. He felt suddenly so very, very old. He gave Aziraphale a comforting squeeze, and said softly, “They learn. Usually by the time they’re ready to leave, they’ve learned.” An idea struck him like lightning. “Do you know, there _are_ actually children who need a protector. Someone to bless and keep them. I forget what the word is for them this century, but it’s people who deviate from the norm. Women who love women, men who love men, people who aren’t man or woman. They’re respected in some places, but not everywhere. And they need someone to protect them.”

“The angels don’t watch over them?”

Crowley made a face that Aziraphale couldn’t see, snug in his arms. It was nice, he thought fleetingly, to hold someone. “No. According to some local customs, it’s seen as against divine will. Which is, as we both know, dog dung. But the angels follow that thought, which is also dog dung. So there’s a niche for you.”

Aziraphale was silent for several moments. Then he snuggled closer, and remarked quietly, “I’m glad you’re the one who broke me out.”

Crowley flushed, but he also felt a thrill of… joy? “If I hadn’t, no one else would’ve.”

“Yes, but… you’re nice. Are you sure you’re a demon?”

Crowley stiffened, as memory hit.

_nice nice nice nice too nice ugh why are you so nice demons aren’t nice Crawley you’re lucky Satan doesn’t care about you nice is for angels_

“Crawley?”

“I’m not nice.” It came out harsh, but that hid the tremor in his voice. “I did it to spite Heaven. Obviously you’re a fugitive now. Heaven will be angered that you’re gone.”

“You’re shaking.” Aziraphale pulled back, to look up at him, and the honest, clean worry on his face frightened Crowley. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just—you saved me and—and I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just say “thank you” and leave it at that.” Crowley couldn’t get his shaking under control. It wouldn’t stop until Aziraphale left, he was sure.

But he also didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone and not distracted. He needed a voice, a presence—warmth—but that was weakness. And he couldn’t be weak. He couldn’t.

Aziraphale was still looking at him worriedly. Then he leaned forward and hugged Crowley again. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment
> 
> Edit: I've gotten like two or three people asking and I am less than polite so perhaps if you re-read the way I spell Crowley's name when the humans talk about/to him and when he is referred to in this chapter you will notice that Aziraphale has multiple chances to learn his current name and also that he identifies with that name. So. Please do not ask about that. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = Life, Love, and Happiness


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